


Vermilion

by pseudofaux



Category: Samurai Love Ballad: PARTY
Genre: 'cause I'm not plannin' on going ~RECORD HALT SOUND~, F/M, he is so beautiful, voltage take my pearls and let me romance this man, wake me up before you go-go, waking up sweetly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 08:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14493036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudofaux/pseuds/pseudofaux
Summary: Masanori is a few days home from the last campaign, but he's been busy to the point of exhaustion. Isn't it nice to wake up so close and observe him at sleepy peace?





	Vermilion

**Author's Note:**

> Not a lot of Masanori in the English app yet-- I'm hopeful we'll get more soon! Hideyoshi's Act II is supposed to be out in Tenka this year... fingers effin' CROSST.
> 
> There's some great information on Masanori on tumblr.

Warmth woke you comfortably. Your lashes dragged on something as you blinked. _Masanori_ , your senses told you. _  
_

He’d slept in!

He had returned three days ago with Hideyoshi and the army. There were feasts every night to celebrate, and councils and other things you didn’t even know keeping him busy during the day. Left to his own devices, he would just keep going despite all his exhaustion, and you were worried about him. You were beyond happy he was here. 

You tilted your face at his shoulder, trying not to wake him. He was snoring very, very lightly and it was so normal and domestic you couldn’t decide if you wanted to snuggle back into your space to soak it up or watch him or wake him with kisses and dote on him as long as he would let you.

Even vulnerable—well, _asleep_ , perhaps not vulnerable, but the snoring did make him seem adorably human—he was so imposing it was hard to remember how shy he was. His mouth was frowning even in rest. His reputation as stonefaced, Masanori who only broke his frown to yell, wasn’t off the mark for a casual observer. But had any statue ever been graced with such lashes? You couldn’t help wondering as the sun slipped into his room. 

On one side of his face, his eyelashes caught the early light. A sunbeam had tracked across the floor as you slept, and its glow made the lashes fine lines of fire. They were vermilion, rich and red, and you knew the eyes below his lids matched them perfectly. For a casual observer, it might be unnerving to meet his eyes.

But you were not a casual observer. The two of you had been watching each other closely and carefully for months. You knew a few of his tells, now, the tiny indicators that he was frustrated or hungry. And he’d learned to tell you those things and others, if you missed them. So for all that learning and loving, here you were, tucked against your giant. In the privacy of his room. Watching the sun reveal the gloriousness of his eyelashes.

You sighed, because at the moment your life was very, very sweet. He’d bathed last night but you were so grateful he was home he could have carried all the stench of war into his bed and you’d have stayed right where you were.

Paying such close attention, you noticed when his eyelids shut a little tighter against the light making its way across his face as the sun rose.

You moved, smoothly as you could, to kneel beside him and shield his eyes from the day. For yourself you wanted to see more of that riot of color in the soft cocoon of this special time, but you also wanted to defend his comfort, and you really wanted to let him sleep. He needed it. There were so few ways you could protect him, and if this was one, that was that. You still got to watch him, too.

He was so tired he didn’t stir, even when the side of your hand rested against his temple. Good. You’d keep watch. And you did. You admired his face quietly, and you loved him.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when his frown deepened and he hummed a “Nmm,” his usual waking sound. You realized the light had moved. When those stunning red eyes opened in your shadow, his face relaxed. Even the sharpness of his brows seemed softened. You hoped he had slept well.

“…Morning,” he said, the burr of his voice quiet and pleasant. He was happy. You could tell.

“Good morning, Masanori,” you said back with a smile.

He moved his hand in an outline of your body.

“The light,” he said, groggy and adorable, hand coming to rest on your cheek. You knew from your shadow you were blocking him from the glare of it, so it was shining behind you.

He swallowed, and murmured, “You’re sun-kissed.” His sweetness was devastating like that. It manifested deeply when you didn’t expect it. You blushed, pleased and a little embarrassed at his poetic observation; so wonderful that self-preservation made you worry it was a tease. But Masanori never teased and would never, ever hurt you.

“I’d rather be you-kissed,” you offered, the bliss of the morning making you saucy. Then _he_ blushed, and though he looked like he might grumble, the combination of all that vermilion with the pink was surprisingly lovely. His eyes were very awake now.

You leaned down to brush your mouth against his and spare him the discomfort of being watched while embarrassed. His hand was waiting to cup your chin and hold you; your toes curled just as your smile did. Tiny bubbles of pleasure floated from your tummy up when your lips slid against his sleep-soft ones, buoyant with happiness and gratitude that he was home and safe, and here with you.

Masanori took your bottom lip into his mouth, gentle as he always was with you. You could feel the lightest curious sweep of his tongue against it. Light enough to have your hands slipping behind his neck so you could brush his clean, manly jaw with your fingers and try to make him keep kissing you.

He reached for you, hands settling at the back of your waist and pulling you closer, over him, onto him. The reach, the pull—those were the sorts of things that revealed what his heart was like to you, that he was private but unashamed in his desire for your closeness. Loving this man kept showing you new happiness.

You had been happy to see him putting birdseed in one of the feeders in the garden, months ago. You had been delighted when you gave a toy he’d made to a village child and knew he was watching from the shadows of a table at the teahouse across the street. Every time you found a new tiny wooden figurine resting in the circle of your window, you were profoundly glad.

Masanori was a great warrior to any observer, and to you he was your great love, too. In privacy he showed you that you were his with so much depth of care it warmed you from your heart outward. You could only grasp at him and try to show him you treasured him in the same way.

He was vermilion: worthy of admiration, lovely and rare. And his heart was gold: a priceless treasure, providing and enduring.  

You brought back an arm to brush the tips of your fingers through the cropped hair at the side of his head. It had surprised you when you first found it, the thickness of his longer hair hiding it outside of battle. And bed.

“I love you,” you whispered. It was the truest thing you knew.


End file.
